And Once Again Beheld The Stars
by Throughtherye
Summary: Merlin accompanies the knights and Arthur on a simple patrol of the borders. But when the knights encounter a deadly foe, Merlin is captured and left to suffer at the hands of the enemy. With each passing day in his prison, Merlin struggles to maintain his humanity and his faith in Arthur. whump, no slash.
1. Midway in Our Life's Journey

**Hey everyone! So this was just and idea I had, and since my other Merlin story is wrapping up, I thought, why not start it now? Anyway, enjoy, and please leave a comment telling me what you thought! Thanks for reading**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin**

And Once Again Beheld the Stars

_Merlin collapsed on the grimy floor of the dungeon. He struggled to his feet, but the heavy shackles weighed his thin wrists down. _

_He managed to drag himself over to the tiny window, where he could see the harsh and unforgiving rain pelt the dark forest below._

_"He's not coming," the voice behind him said, both taunting and pitying. He didn't turn; he didn't want to face the origin of the voice. Instead, he stared dejectedly out the window, waiting, searching for any sign of the friends who had forgotten him and forsaken him to endure this hell._

One day ago

Merlin rummaged around in the saddlebag, searching for the map Arthur had requested. The knights were lounging about the clearing, tired after a long day of riding. The king had taken his knights along to the border of Camelot and Cenred's kingdom, to address some reports of bandits in the area, and they had been successful in clearing up the matter. Merlin passed the map over to Arthur, who took one glance at it and rolled his eyes.

"No, not this map, the other one, Merlin," Arthur said, tossing the old scroll back into Merlin's hand.

"Well, you could have specified," Merlin muttered as he turned back to his saddlebag and began digging through the numerous scrolls.

"I am your king, Merlin, and I will specify as much as I want," Arthur said, puffing out his chest slightly in response.

"Prat," Merlin said under his breath. Arthur whipped around to glare at his manservant. Gwaine stifled a laugh at the look on Arthur's face.

"I heard that!" Arthur threw his plate at the back of Merlin's head. He was satisfied with a muffled 'ow' from the young warlock. "And clean that, too, while you're at it!" Arthur moved back towards the fire, this time with the correct map in his hand. He spread out the scroll so that everyone could see, and he spoke to the knights gathered around.

"Now, we're heading east," Arthur said, indicating the direction on the map and the trail that they would follow. "We will be back in Camelot in two days time." He rolled the map back up, and the knights returned to their relaxed positions around the warm fire.

"Pass me the stew," Gwaine said to Merlin, who abandoned the many dishes he had to clean and hauled the heavy pot over to the knight. He deposited it at Gwaine's feet, and the knight smiled up at him. "Thank you, Merlin." Gwaine said, still smiling.

"Merlin, the stew, please," Leon called from across the clearing. Merlin pursed his lips and heaved his burden over to the grinning knight. Now everyone was smiling at Merlin, and each called for the stew to be brought to them in their turn. When each had been served, they ate in comfortable silence. And then they called the fuming but silent manservant over for second helpings.

They took turns on the watch, but the night was quiet and peaceful. They all slept well, and once the morning came, they packed up their things and rode off in the direction of Camelot.

A little ways down the road, Arthur called for the company to stop. As the knights slowed their horses down, they saw that there was an old man walking in the middle of the road. He looked up in surprise at the men in armor and smiled.

"Where are you headed, old man?" Arthur asked, sheathing his sword as he spoke. The other knights followed suit, as it was rude to brandish their weapons at a defenseless old man. Merlin, on the other hand, remained wary. There was something about the stranger's eyes. They were not old man's eyes, but young and shining with perfect clarity. Merlin knew in the back of his mind that something was wrong.

"Wherever the path happens to take me," the old man responded in an amiable voice.

"Does that path happen to lead to a tavern of some sorts?"Gwaine perked up somewhat. "I don't know about the rest of you fine gentlemen, but I could do with a drink." Leon and Elyan laughed, and Merlin allowed a vague smile, still watching the stranger.

"None," the old man said with a gracious nod. "My name, good knights, is Foren. My castle is not far from here, perhaps you would like to dine there instead?"

"No, we must return to Camelot," Arthur said, shaking his head. "But thank you for the offer."

"Camelot?" Foren said. He raised his eyebrows. "You are knights of Camelot?"

"Yes," Arthur replied. He vaguely felt the uncomfortable nature of the Foren's stare and the coldness of his smile, and he hurried on. "But we must be going on, now. Thank you for your kindness." He spurred on his horse, and the others made to follow, but they found they could not move. Each struggled against an invisible force that was holding them back. "What-what is going on?" Arthur grunted as he tried to move forward.

"You are knights of Camelot, and I am willing to bet that your leader is none other then the king, Arthur Pendragon. I am afraid that I cannot allow you to leave," The old man said, and his eyes flashed gold. Everyone was thrown back from their horses and landed harshly on the forest floor.

Arthur got to his feet and drew his sword, murder on his face. The knights did the same, and they charged the sorcerer. They were no match. If any of the knights came close enough, they were thrown back once more, as if there was a force field surrounding Foren.

Elyan had been tossed into a tree, and had fallen still, presumably unconscious. Gwaine lay on the forest floor, his sword grasped in a limp hand. Percival and Leon fell also, and so Arthur was the only knight left standing. Merlin hovered off to the side, uncertain whether he should use his magic, with Arthur still fighting. But after Arthur was thrown to the ground, Merlin stepped forward, one hand extended as he gauged the power of the threat. The sorcerer narrowed his eyes in concentration.

"Ah, a warlock. Interesting," Foren mused. He thrust his hand forward, but not before Merlin did the same. Merlin's eyes glowed gold, and the sorcerer staggered back. Merlin shouted, and again Foren was shoved back farther into the forest. The old man panted as he got to his feet. He glowered at Merlin for a moment, then gave a high whistle which echoed throughout the forest. Without warning, two burly men came out from behind the trees and lunged at Merlin, tackling him to the ground. Merlin thrashed and struggled, but the two men were twice his size and would not budge. Merlin could feel the magic tingling in his veins, and he opened his mouth to spit out a spell. Before he could get anything out, though, a strange smelling bag was shoved under his nose, making him gag. He slumped to the ground as his body shut down, the world flickering and warping before his eyes.

The men dropped Merlin, his eyes now closed and his body unconscious. Foren spat on the ground, his hand massaging his chest.

"It's been a while since I have faced such powerful magic. Strange, though, that he would be protecting Arthur. Very strange..." Foren rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "All right, pack him up. Leave the others. I have a feeling that this one will be more useful to us after all."

The men obeyed, dragging Merlin out onto the path where their horses waited for them. They threw Merlin on to one of the horses, then they rode off down the path, Merlin's head lolling as he slept in blissful ignorance.

**Leave a review? Thanks! This was just a sort of taster, the other chapters will be longer. Whump to come next chapter…**


	2. I Found Myself in a Dark Wood

**Sorry about the wait. School just started, and I've been busy studying for the tests. Then the miraculous weekend came, and I could write again. The chapters might be slow coming as I get adjusted, but don't worry. For the next few weeks I'm devoting time in my day to writing. Plus my new english teacher is amazing and inspiring, and I have a feeling I'll be writing a lot in her class. Anyway, on with the story. Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin**

Merlin groaned as his eyes were assaulted with a bright light. His body ached all over, as if he had been pushed down a flight of stairs. His nose was consumed with the harsh smell of dirt, and the air around him was icy cold. He was lying on his stomach, his head twisted in an uncomfortable position as he tried to breath. He could hear the blood pounding in his head, his ears filled with the pulsing sound. Merlin swallowed in a vain attempt to wet his dry throat. He had that lethargic and groggy feeling as though he had slept for days, or perhaps it was just his reaction to the incredible headache.

He slapped his hands down on the floor, pushing up his body so he could look around. He had been lying in the only ray of light in the entire room, emanating from the tiny window set in the stone wall. The rest of the room was shrouded in darkness, and his eyes struggled to distinguish the blurry outlines of shapes. The ceiling was high and cavernous, making Merlin think that the room was actually quite large. But he was confined to a small, cramped space of his own, a cell blocked off with thick iron bars.

He got to his feet, stifling the groans of discomfort as his body cried out in protest. He turned towards the bars, stretching his hand out imperiously, his eyes flashing gold. Nothing happened. The bars stayed where they were, and Merlin tried again. After several attempts, he slumped back against the wall in defeat.

* * *

It took Arthur a few minutes to remember where he was and what had happened. He sat on the forest floor, staring about in a sort of bewilderment. He reached for his sword, which lay in the dead leaves and dirt, and used it as a support to help him stand. The other knights were waking up at the same time, in varying states of confusion and disquiet. Arthur blinked several times in an attempt to clear his head, ignoring the dull throbbing in the back of his head. He took a step towards Gwaine, who had not yet stirred, but found himself swaying as dizziness swept through his body.

"Gwaine?" he called out instead, not wanting to risk taking another step and falling facedown in the dirt. When the knight didn't answer, Leon, who was closer to him, went over to tend to him, leaving Arthur to catalogue his own injuries. There was nothing major, Arthur decided after a moment of examination, flexing his muscles and stretching out his arms. Leon pulled Gwaine up to his feet, and the dazed expression on Gwaine's face must have matched Arthur's own feeling.

Arthur turned around, counting the men surrounding him. It took him a few seconds to register that one was missing. He counted again, unable to trust his first attempt. He walked around the clearing, searching for that head of black hair, those blue eyes. Now all the knights were watching him circle the clearing, pacing in the dirt and leaves. Arthur looked up at the knights, his face betraying the growing worry.

"Maybe he…woke up first and went to get help?" Elyan was the first to speak. He knew it wasn't true, but he saw the look on Arthur's face, and felt the urge to console the king.

"The sorcerer," Gwaine said, his eyes narrowing. "But why would he take a servant with the King of Camelot sleeping at your feet?" Arthur shook his head.

"That does not matter," Arthur spoke slowly and clearly, regaining control over his emotions. "Merlin matters. And if he's at the mercy of some sorcerer…" Arthur trailed off, letting the unspoken words paint a picture in everyone's minds. Arthur took a deep breath, trying to rid his mind of the disturbing images.

"Let's go, then," Gwaine said gruffly as he went over to saddle his horse. Arthur followed, but a grimace of pain flashed across his face. Leon noticed.

"Are you hurt?" the knight said, concern coloring his words. Arthur shook his head vigorously, not wanting to hinder the journey to rescue Merlin. He couldn't help but wince, as shaking his head was agitating his immense headache. Leon, accustomed to the king's tendency to conceal his suffering, was not fooled.

"You may have a concussion, sire," Leon said gently, but steadily. Arthur reached up to probe the tender spot on his head. He was no stranger to concussions, having been around training equipment, and blunt and sharp weapons all of his life. "You need to be examined by a physician. We should return to Camelot before searching for Merlin."

"But Gaius is not the only physician," Gwaine replied quickly, anxious to get after Merlin as soon as possible. "There are towns near here, all we need to do is find one big enough to have one."

"There is a town at the edge of the forest, not far from here," Elyan spoke up. "We could stop there and ask."

"Very well," Arthur said, unable to ignore the throbbing pain that was threatening to consume his body. "But we must hurry. Merlin is waiting for us." He mounted his horse, Gwaine eagerly copying him. Once they were all ready, they rode down the path towards the town. Arthur couldn't help but glance back down the road, knowing Merlin had been taken in the opposite direction.

* * *

Merlin must have dozed off again, for when he woke next, what little light there had been before had now been extinguished by the cold night air. The aching in his body had somewhat diminished, leaving him with a willingness to sleep for a few hours more.

But he was woken by a loud, scraping sound in his dungeon. He drew himself up to see a tall man lunging for him.

Merlin didn't know how long or how far they dragged him. At some points he found he could limp along with the tall man's stride, but at others he struggled to keep up and limit the damage to his knees and legs.

Finally, he heard the creaking of a door, and was hauled into a room. He could immediately feel the sudden drop in temperature, and errantly speculated whether this was due to magic, or if it was just this cold naturally. He looked up, and saw a heavy wooden chair was the only piece of furniture in the room.

Was this some sort of interrogation? Merlin wondered. But what secrets did he know? He knew virtually nothing about the outer defenses of the city, nothing that could help an invading force. And if this was about Merlin's magic, what was there to tell? Only that he had been born with it and that everyone else in the magical community expected him to protect and unite the lands of Albion. What else could he divulge to his captures?

He was secured to the wooden chair, his limbs tied tightly with rough rope. He was breathing heavily, the icy cold making his puffs of air visible in the room. He was shivering already, almost yearning to be back in the comfortable temperature of his cell. And yet he had a feeling he wouldn't be going anywhere soon.

He was left alone for a while, his mind consumed with the cold. He could feel his limbs becoming numb, from the dropping temperature and the lack of blood circulation in his arms and legs, having been cut off by the constricting ropes. Merlin closed his eyes, attempting to fall asleep and escape the cold. But he was too wound up to drift off, and he was forced to sit in consciousness and growing dread. He wondered if they had maybe forgotten about him, and it was almost comforting to know that the cold was not strong enough to kill him.

It seemed that just as he was falling asleep, the door opened. Merlin recognized the sorcerer who had attacked them in the forest and the tall man who had brought him to the room.

Foren drifted off into the corner as the other man shut the door. He turned to Merlin, a calm look on his face.

"What's your name, young man?" he asked. Merlin studied the man before answering.

"Merlin," he replied. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the ropes chafing his increasingly raw wrists. The sorcerer was nodding slowly.

"All right, Merlin. You have magic, yes?" Foren continued. Merlin was distracted by the tall man, who came up behind him and rested a hand on the back of Merlin's chair.

"Yes," Merlin replied warily, unsure of where the conversation was going.

"Does Arthur know?" The question caught Merlin off guard. Merlin shook his head, his eyes following Foren's movements around the room. "I thought not. Which is why I have a proposition for you, my young warlock." Merlin stiffened.

"Arthur has been, and always will be, against magic. There is no future for our people if Arthur Pendragon remains king. So I offer you the chance to be a part of that future without Arthur. With you by our side, we can conquer all the lands, not just Camelot. Join us, Merlin, and everything will change. Join us, and be free," Foren finished. He bowed his head, waiting for Merlin to answer.

"I…" Merlin swallowed hard before continuing. "I believe in Arthur. I believe in the Albion that he will create. And I will never turn against him," Merlin set his jaw, staring at the sorcerer in front of him. Foren raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Well, I wasn't expecting that answer," Foren said, a grim look replacing the surprise. "After all, Merlin, you're just a servant. Would you rather help shape the future, or pretend that you are doing your part by polishing the king's armor? But, I'm afraid you don't really have a choice in the matter. I have seen what you can do. You are clearly one of the most powerful warlocks Albion has ever seen. We _need_ you on our side." He moved to the door and cast a last look over his shoulder at Merlin. "But don't worry. I think that we can change your mind." The door closed, and Merlin was left alone with the other man.

The man walked to the front, taking Foren's place. Merlin tried to stare defiantly back, but the rapid thumping of his heart gave away his fear. He watched the man flex his fingers and form a fist with his right hand. Merlin wondered whether he should close his eyes, so that he would not see the contact, only feel it. What was the point, though, if he knew what was coming anyway?

But before he could make up his mind, he felt the fist collide with his face, accented with a agonizing crunch . Merlin's head snapped back, and he gasped, unaccustomed to the pain. Of course, he had had his fair share of cuts and bruises, but never like this.

Over and over, the fist came at him, and Merlin decided to close his eyes. His mind was reeling, his body beginning to shake, the cold in the room long forgotten.

Through his swirling vision, he saw the man draw back his fist once more. Merlin tried to brace himself for the next onslaught, but again it came too quickly. His mind was slowly shutting down, as if the pain was overriding his circuits. He ached for merciful sleep now, but he knew it would not come just yet.

The blow to the stomach surprised him, as the man had previously prioritized Merlin's face. His breathing was becoming labored now, his skin hot and his mind flustered.

He could taste the blood, even though he couldn't see it. He could feel it trailing down his chin and his throat. At first, it was only a slow, tantalizing trickle. But it grew; with each strike it grew until it was streaming from every possible surface of his face. He was struck by the smell of his blood. It smelled of metal, and the lingering stench of fear. Because he was afraid. He could feel the thrill of panic race through his vulnerable body each time that fist retracted. It was tangible in the air, as well, and he knew his captor could sense it.

The man suddenly tipped the chair over, and Merlin fell through the air. His arms were still tied to the chair, though, and so he landed with a sickening crash on his throbbing and bloody face. The scream was wrenched out of him, his voice hoarse and rough from disuse.

It was enough to put him over the edge. He could vaguely feel arms, strong arms, grabbing him and dragging his limp body. He was too far gone to fight it. He could hear the creaking of the door to his cell, and then the cool stone floor on his bare skin. The door closed, and he was left alone.

It _hurt_. Everything, everywhere, a sharp ache and burn. And he was so tired. He just wanted to sleep now. Sleep, and escape.

But he couldn't. He lay there, wide-awake, with one thought boring through his mind. This was only the first day.

**Reviews? Thanks! **


	3. For the True Path Was Lost

**I was writing this chapter during my free period while trying to avoid the attention and wrath of our crazy/evil librarian. Seriously, she yelled at my friend for asking if to use the stapler. Plus the computers in there are dinosaurs, and the one I was using kept giving me the spinning wheel of death while I was in the middle of a paragraph. On a thoroughly unrelated subject, we're reading Beowulf in class and every time I look at the Old English version I'm tempted to try it out and see if I have magic, but I can't pronounce one word. Also, while we were discussing our essays, my friend used the word 'supercilious' and I kinda freaked out. Is it a bad sign if I relate everything in my life to Merlin now? I guess I'm just too excited for the new season... Anyway, thank you guys so much for all the reviews! ****Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin**

The wind stirred and rustled, waking Merlin out of his deep slumber. The night was dry and hot, and Merlin could feel a slight layer of sweat covering his body. As he slowly grew more awake, he heard a commotion below him, shouts and cries of noise. He wasn't sure if perhaps the sleep was still lingering in his bones, and the noise was just and echo of his troubled dreams. The shouts grew louder, carrying up from the forest floor to the small window of Merlin's cell. He sat up, surprised that the injuries from the day before did not hurt as much as he thought they would. Or maybe they did, and he was just numbed by the pain.

There was a sudden clatter and smash right outside of Merlin's door. He scrambled to his feet, a part of him noting his body's reluctance to move. He could feel his heart begin to race as the door was forced open, and there stood Arthur, blood staining his armor and matted into his blonde hair.

"Merlin!" Arthur cried out, and Merlin reached out weakly to him. In that moment, he knew something was wrong. His hands… they were the hands of an old man. Merlin looked down at himself in bewilderment and saw his own withered limbs, his blue veins bulging and snaking up his thin arms. It was strange. Only yesterday had Merlin been a young man. His hands shook as he reached up to touch the coarse white hair on top of his head. Merlin tried to call out Arthur's name, but though his throat strained to make a sound, only dry air came out. He felt the need to cough, or choke, or something, but he could only watch as Arthur looked down on him in disappointment. "Oh," Arthur said. "You're not… Have you seen a young man with dark hair and blue eyes?" Merlin could only shake his head no, the voice inside his head screaming. _It's me!_ Merlin could only cry out in his head. _Arthur, save me!_

Arthur didn't seemed to move, but suddenly his body was out in the corridor. Before Merlin could go after him, Arthur moved back again, and this time he was down on the staircase. Merlin was rooted to the spot, and could only watch as Arthur's blonde head moved farther and farther away from him.

* * *

Arthur winced as the physician attempted to examine his head. Despite the man's gentle touch, Arthur still felt the twinge of pain race through his body. The physician meant well, he was sure, but it didn't mean that it wouldn't hurt. Arthur bit down on his lip as the physician left the room for a moment and returned to the room with a damp washcloth. He applied it to the king's well sized bump.

They had arrived in the small, humble town at the edge of the forest that morning, and had hurriedly questioned the inhabitants for the location of the town physician. One of the townsfolk directed them to the largest building in town, and a kindly man met them outside. Upon hearing that the blonde haired man was the king of Camelot, he agreed to tend to all of them.

"Rest," the physician, a man named Amicus, said to Arthur. "A cool, wet washcloth should be applied to the lump every hour… If you rest a few days, you will be all right. The lump will go away in a few weeks at the most. You should drink plenty of water, and you can mix some honey and lemon into that water too. That should help with the dizziness somewhat." As he spoke, he fetched a battered old goblet from one of the many tables in the room and filled it with water from a pitcher. He handed it to the king, who drank it gratefully.

"One day," Arthur said after taking a long drink. "Is all we can spare at the moment. Well, a few hours at most. Tomorrow we should be on our way." The physician made no attempt to argue, as they all heard the grim determination under Arthur's words. Arthur finished his water and handed the goblet back to Amicus. "We could all use the sleep."

Arthur was no stranger to sleeping in obscure places. Contrary to many people's belief, he did not always have the luxury of his feather bed back in Camelot. On every journey outside of the city, he would sleep on the ground with his knights, or if they were lucky enough to pass by an inn, they would all sleep in a bed for one night. So Arthur was not surprised or humiliated when the physician led them outside of the structure, and welcomed them to the barn. The physician was clearly embarrassed and ashamed, as he stammered out some sort of apology. Arthur raised is hand to quiet the man.

"Thank you for your hospitality and help. It is very appreciated," Arthur said, assuming the stately tone he used to address his subjects in public. The man gave a slight bow, and then left them to settle in the low heaps of golden hay.

Arthur was not in the mood for speaking, and his mood was reflected as the weary knights gathered up hay for their bedding. Even the jovial and mocking Gwaine refrained from his usual antics.

One night, Arthur chanted to himself over and over. Just one night. Merlin will be fine. We will find him, and everything will be fine. But Arthur couldn't rid himself of the dread and worry burrowing itself in his mind. If Merlin was hurt in any way… He would never be able to forgive himself. And he would kill the man who dared to lay a finger on his best friend.

Arthur cast his thoughts back to the other day. Merlin had seemed happy enough. At least, from what Arthur could see. Another, unsettling thought drifted across Arthur's head. The last thing he had said to Merlin. Clean that too, Merlin, he had said. He'd even thrown a plate at the boy's head. Was that the behavior of a friend? Arthur asked himself. But Merlin had known that it was all in jest. Didn't he?

Arthur could not fall asleep. The night floated in, and all he could see in the barn were four pairs of bright, aware eyes. No one else could sleep either. Arthur shifted in the hay and took a sip from his water skein. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

So it had all been a dream, Merlin thought as he woke to the cruel reality. He was shaken; not only from the extensive pain that ricocheted through his vulnerable body, but also from the nature of his dream. Is that really what his subconscious believed? That he would be trapped in this cell for days, perhaps years? But Arthur… Arthur would come for him. Arthur wouldn't let that happen.

_And look where that thinking has gotten you so far_, a snide voice commented in his mind. _Look what you've gone through in the past few days. Arthur has already forgotten you._

He remembered the second day; the man in black had come back for him. Merlin tried to resist, for they hadn't yet broken his spirit. But it was pointless, and he was once again dragged to that small, freezing cold room. Foren was only there for a moment, and only to ask Merlin if he had changed his mind. When Merlin shook his head no, and managed to conjure enough spit to spew painfully over the sorcerer's boots, Foren left the room. Merlin expected the heavy wooden chair, but was instead subjected to the burn and sting of the cool lash.

It hurt more than the beating with the man's fists, but after a while, he was nauseatingly numb. The bile spilled from his mouth when the man paused, the water he had been allowed to drink mixed with his crimson blood.

He hadn't eaten in a while. Even before he had been captured, he hadn't had the time to consume a decent sized meal. At least now, the lack of solid food in his stomach was an advantage. The pile of sick in front of him would be even more unpleasant if he had been eating regularly.

Merlin shuddered at the memory as he curled up in a ball on the floor of his cell, trying to retain what little heat there was in his body. He ignored the bite of pain from his stomach, most likely his ribs protesting the movement.

He was surprised he had been able to sleep at all. Even with the nightmare, he had still slept better than he had since he had gotten there. The past nights had all been interrupted in the same way. He would be sleeping, not peacefully, but easily. But then his body would react involuntarily in his slumber. The night after the lashing he landed on his back, inflaming the raw, red skin. His eyes would snap open and he would lie there, gulping and gasping for air. Other nights, he just couldn't sleep. Whether it was the pain, or the nightmares, he simply could not close his eyes and drift off.

He tried to hold the tears back, or to let them flow as quietly as possible, but it was no use. He began to rock back and forth on the ground and wrapped his arms around his knees. The tears fell, ugly and harsh.

Each tear that dripped to the floor seemed to echo across the high ceiling. They glistened like diamonds against the dirty stone floor.

Merlin's tears faded gradually, and his breathing grew slower and deeper. He had cried himself to sleep.

**Poor Merlin. I kinda feel bad about beating him up like this. Oh well. I'll make it up to him later… Just to clarify, Merlin's been there about three days. I know it was a bit haphazard, all the mentions of past nights. God, Arthur is taking forever, isn't he? Yeah, poor Merlin. Anyways, Thanks for reading! Reviews are awesome.**


	4. And Eternal Shall I Endure

**Sorry for the late update! I got sick and then my sister came to visit, so I was really busy. Plus all of my classes have been piling on the homework. But I now give you a nice long chapter with some angst and action. Thank you all for the reviews and everything! They really motivate me to write more and more.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin**

When he wasn't in that little, cold room with the metallic taste of blood on his pale lips, he was back in the damp and dark cell, waiting for the tall man in black to return for him. Merlin would sit on the floor of his cell and gaze out the window, always too weak to stand up on his own. The tiny window would stare down at him, mocking him, too small for him to fit through, and yet big enough that he could see the stars and the moon shining in the night sky. The same moon that Arthur would be looking at, if he was looking up at the heavens at the same time.

Arthur... Merlin tried not to think about him. The first few days in this hell, he had welcomed the memories and thoughts about his best friend. They were comforting, made the agony endurable. But now, now the thought of Arthur was a painful one, and Merlin didn't want to add to his physical torment. So he didn't think about the king anymore.

There wasn't much left of Merlin. That old Merlin, the one who laughed and smiled and joked with Arthur, he was fading. Fast. He didn't know how much longer he could cling to that Merlin, and he wasn't eager to find out.

And yet he didn't give in to the sorcerer's demands. That's something, isn't it? he said to himself. But the rest of him rejected this one almost soothing thought. So he was still loyal to Arthur. What did it matter if Arthur wasn't loyal to him?

Merlin was grateful, at least, that Foren alternated between the beatings and the flogging. While the beatings were unbearably painful, there was, as of yet, nothing worse than being woken from a needed sleep by landing on one's back when the ripped and torn flesh still bled.

He couldn't remember now the feel of food on his lips. He knew that food was fairly low on his list of priorities, and he knew that the torture would surely kill him before the lack of sustenance in his stomach did. It was still a horrible way to die, but at least with starvation he would die in some form of peace, and not in a torrent of blood and agony.

Peace. That was what Merlin wanted, above all else. He no longer dwelled on the peace there had been in Camelot. In truth, there had been no real serenity in Camelot. But that was to be expected, what with the wars and Arthur and, of course, Merlin's destiny. His destiny, which seemed to be dissolving now in the cold night air.

No, there would be no peace in Camelot. And he came to the conclusion that the only way to find tranquility was to die.

Did he want to die? He wondered. He wasn't sure. He knew he couldn't go on just _existing_, left to wander in this place, in which he would live in pain and misery, forever searching for his final resting place. He wanted meaning in his life. But that was what his destiny was, wasn't it? It gave his life a purpose; it gave him a reason to walk on in the world.

But now, as he sat and contemplated the end on the floor of his cell, he could see that if he did not escape, if he was not rescued before he lost himself, he would welcome death. If Arthur did not come, if he was left to flounder in the darkness, scared and alone, he reasoned that there was no point in remaining in this world.

But he was still scared. He wouldn't admit it to himself, but he was scared of dying. There were so many questions he had, with no answers. He didn't know what would happen, what would come _after_ the end.

How would he die? He was certain that he would die in pain. Yes, he was sure of that. Pain and suffering. No easy way out, no floating off in his sleep. It would have to be the hard way. But that was his whole life, after all. Never easy, only more struggling and hardship. Had that made him stronger? he wondered. But again, he had no answer to the question his subconscious posed.

When I die, no one will remember me, he mused. No one will recognize the name Merlin in the pages of history; no one will celebrate the birth of Merlin in years to come. I will be forgotten, and the world will continue turning and turning without me on it.

And maybe there was magic involved in making him think these things and feel this way. Maybe Foren was using his skills to bend and break Merlin's spirit. And if he was, it was working.

* * *

Arthur squirmed in his saddle, impatient to be off already. They had received directions to the residence of Foren from the more than willing townsfolk. Apparently, the sorcerer ventured into town on some days to buy goods, going under a different name. After a detailed description supplied by Leon, the townsfolk had consented to point out the direction that the menacing man always took. According to the kind barkeeper, the only structure for miles in that direction was an old, decrepit tower in the valley.

It was a silent journey, as all the knights had had a long, uneasy night. They were tired and weary and worried; Arthur the most. Yet they still had a long ways in front of them, and Merlin was waiting for them.

* * *

Merlin was excepting him this time, his ears accustomed to the creak of the door and the heavy footsteps. The tall man, whom Merlin had never heard speak a word appeared before the cell.

Merlin was nursing many injuries; too many to catalogue. When the man tugged Merlin's arm, he was not surprised to fell the bolts of pain burrowing through his body.

He was brought to a different room this time. It appeared to be a large sitting room, pieces of mismatched furniture scattered about. Set into the wall was a massive fireplace, a roaring flame crackling forebodingly inside. Foren was standing before the fire, staring into its depths, deep in thought. He twirled a long thin object in his hand like a baton. He spoke without turning to look at his prisoner.

"I think, Merlin, that this will be our final offer. I grow tired of these games. So I ask you one last time: will you agree to aid me in conquering the land of Albion? Consider the benefits, my young friend. Fame, fortune. _Freedom_. Everything you ever wanted. And all you have to do is say the word."

Foren swiveled around suddenly, brandishing the stick in his hand. Merlin could now see it up close.

Oh God, Merlin thought, his eyes widening in pure fear. It was a branding iron.

Foren waited for a moment, allowing the sight to sink in, then turned back to the fireplace and plunged the iron deep into the flames. When he pulled back and brought the iron closer to Merlin, the young warlock could feel the mingled heat and magic pouring off of the glowing circle.

Merlin's breathing spiked immediately, his heart beating out a lightening fast tattoo.

He groped for his magic, only to painfully remember that it was blocked off from him while he was in this place. He writhed uncomfortably in his chair, not caring that he was agitating his wounds in the process, his mind fixed on the glowing iron coming towards him.

The tall man stepped forward and rolled up Merlin's sleeve, revealing his thin arm. Merlin couldn't help but picture the ugly, black burn against the mottled bruises decorating his pale white skin. The thought only made him struggle more.

Merlin's ears caught the hiss of the brand meeting his vulnerable skin before his mind could register the incredible pain. Black spots raced across his vision as his head tilted back into the wooden chair. He screamed, but the quiet room soon stifled the noise.

Dimly, he could feel his chair being dragged closer to the fireplace. He wasn't sure how many times the iron was pressed onto his skin; but he knew it had been several times already, for it felt as though his whole body was on fire. Foren moved from his arms to his legs, leaving Merlin dizzy and gasping for air.

Merlin's chair was now directly in front of the fireplace, and he was sweating from the fear and the heat. Would burns like these heal with magic? He wondered offhandedly as the sorcerer paused with the iron. Or would he be left with these awful scars for the rest of his life?

His limbs moved of their own volition, the intense pain making him loose control. It hurt awfully for him to do so, but he still thrashed out with his legs, his arms twisting and turning in their bindings. He dimly felt his foot make contact with something, and he vaguely registered the furious heat, the hiss of danger. Instantly, he felt astonishing agony rocket up his leg and his mind floundered, the darkness threatening to settle in.

All he could see was a single color, a blinding red, rearing up at him, consuming his vision.

The room caught fire alarmingly fast, but Merlin remained slumped in his chair, the remainder of his energy having been exerted in that one desperate kick. He could feel that familiar buzz of magic thrilling through him, and he knew that his pent-up anger and hatred was combining to make the flames grow.

Foren was blasting a pathway through the fire, but his magic was weak compared to the fury of Emrys. Merlin saw out of the corner of his eye that the sorcerer had successfully made it out of the room, and had stumbled into the chamber beyond. The same could not be said for the tall man; Merlin's tormenter had succumbed to the fire.

Merlin gasped a few words of the Old Religion and miraculously his wrists were free of their bonds. He fell forward on to his knees on the floor, staring about the smoke-filled room. He was fighting off the darkness now, the urge to fall unconscious pressing in on his logic and reason.

He didn't think he could stand. He stayed frozen on the floor, fixated by the flashing streaks of red and the smoke swirling around in the air.

It occurred to him that he would die here. He would die after escaping the capture of Foren. He would die by the flames. It was his own pyre, fit for a warlock like him.

This knowledge stirred something inside of him, and he rallied himself to move. He wasn't ready. He didn't want to go.

He would not die. Not like this.

* * *

Arthur urged his horse forward eagerly and came to the top of the hill, where he could look down upon the whole valley. It had taken them a few hours, but they had finally reached the valley. Not too long now, he thought. He froze when he saw the tower. It was tucked neatly away in the trees, but clearly visible from his vantage point and very close. And it was on fire.

**Uh-oh. Poor Merlin. It's okay, though, Arthur's coming. Reviews make my day! Thanks for reading!**


	5. All Hope Abandon

**I've really got no excuse for the lateness of the chapter. I can only say that I am very sorry. I had PSATS and work and homework and sports. But I finally give you the next chapter. Plus season five of Merlin proved immensely distracting from life. But what do y'all think of the new season? I think it's off to a good start, but I'll wait a bit longer to see. I don't want to spoil it for anyone, but I'll just say that Morgana seems kinda crazy, Liam Cunningham was a badass, and that creepy alien thing freaked me out. If you haven't seen Arthur's Bane yet, the two episodes are on youtube for those of us not living in the U.K. Haven't seen today's episode, but will soon. Thank you all so much for the reviews, I appreciate them so much! Now, back to the story…**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. Unfortunately. ****Small warning: swearing**

Arthur had never ridden his horse faster than in that moment. He had been an avid racer in his younger days, challenging the other boys to competitions, and he would always win. Looking back on it, he couldn't be certain whether it was actual skill that earned him his titles, or whether it was the fact that he was the Crown Prince of Camelot. Either way, he still believed himself to be quite fast on his horse when he wanted to be.

Arthur dug his heels into his horse's sides, spurring the creature to whinny and thunder forward. The knights were right behind him, and soon they all came before the raging fire. Arthur's eyes reflected the orange and red bursts of flame as he leaped off of his horse and drew his sword. For a moment he was distracted by a short figure running off into the woods surrounding the castle, and he immediately signaled for someone to follow. Not turning around to see who went in pursuit, Arthur strode forward into the blaze.

Thankfully, the doorway was still standing, making an easy entrance, and hopefully an easy exit. Arthur's eyes were assaulted with the thick smoke, and he held up his sleeve in front of his face to keep the poisonous plumes out. The front room was crumbling, but he could see the winding staircase at the back. He should have been more cautious, minding the ceiling and the occasional blasts of fire across his path, but his mind was focused solely on Merlin.

He trudged up the stairs, the heat bringing beads of perspiration down his neck.

Arthur almost tripped over the body lying in the doorway as he came to the first landing. He leaned forward, turning the body over to get a look at the front.

He didn't have time to thoroughly examine the body. He only saw the bright red neckerchief, soiled by dirt and singed by the fire, usually kept so immaculately clean by its owner.

He sheathed his sword and shoved his arms under Merlin, heaving him back down the stairs. He didn't have time to be gentle, and he hoped that Merlin couldn't feel the rough motions. He expected his manservant to be heavier, but was surprised to find that he could lift his friend off the ground without another man's help. He could hear Gwaine come forward out of the smoke, his sword drawn and his expression livid. There was a crash somewhere above them, and Arthur was sure that the tower was about to collapse.

Arthur's breathing became faster and harsher, his lungs aching and gasping for air. The ugly sound was barely audible over the deafening roar of the flames.

He struggled through the doorway and out into the open space, his arms still securely wrapped around Merlin's chest. Arthur stumbled backwards to the ground as Gwaine followed him out through the door. Arthur settled Merlin down on the ground, all the while wheezing and coughing, waiting for the clean air to circulate through his clouded lungs.

Gwaine went immediately to Merlin, and Arthur leaned back, still breathing heavily.

"Arthur?" Leon was the first to speak, his eyes focused on his king's face. "Arthur, the man who went into the forest… we could not find him. He disappeared." The others waited for this to sink in, and Arthur sat back on his heels.

Gwaine was still hovering over Merlin's still body, blocking him from Arthur's view.

"Gwaine?" Arthur asked, disregarding this information and focusing on the more pressing matter. He was ignored as Gwaine's nimble fingers continued their search of Merlin's body.

"We should move, sire," Elyan murmured, indicating the still burning tower, logic clouding over the initial shock and fear. Arthur's eyes were still frozen on Gwaine's back, waiting for an answer, any answer.

"At least tell me he's _alive_," Arthur found himself hissing, a sudden surge of anger coming forward. Gwaine spoke without turning around.

"He's breathing," was all that the knight said. Gwaine took Merlin up in his arms and finally turned to face the other knights. Arthur was startled to see a thin trail of exposed skin set against the soot and grime on Gwaine's face. Arthur had never seen Gwaine cry, had never seen any of his knights cry. The fact that Gwaine was made him worry. It _really_ made him worry.

The men returned to their horses, and Gwaine attempted to settle Merlin into his saddle, but was having trouble lifting the boy.

"Here," Arthur said solemnly, raising a hand to assist Gwaine. He was alarmed when Gwaine violently hoisted Merlin's limp body up onto the horse in one forceful heave, without Arthur's helping hand.

"Don't touch him," Gwaine spat. Arthur recoiled, which, in hindsight, was ridiculous. Arthur knew that he had every right to see that Merlin was secured safely, and Gwaine shouldn't have been able to stop him. And yet the venom in the knight's voice made Arthur withdraw his hand immediately, as if burned.

The others looked on uncomfortably as Gwaine went about strapping Merlin in. Arthur returned to his horse silently, still wondering at the rebuke. They rode off quickly, moving through the woods and as far away from the smoke and ash.

* * *

They stopped in a clearing, and this time Gwaine successfully moved Merlin to the ground without Arthur's intervention.

Arthur got off of his horse and crouched by the still body of his manservant. He reached out gently to perform his own inspection of Merlin's body. He lifted Merlin's tattered tunic to glimpse the boy's alabaster skin.

His chest and stomach were peppered with dozens of bruises, all in varying states of recovery. As gingerly as he could manage with his shaking hands, Arthur turned Merlin over onto his stomach.

There were long thin strips stretching over his entire back. While some were still fresh and bloody, others had formed new white scars, crisscrossing on Merlin's exposed shoulders.

By sight, one could barely distinguish the long white scars from the surrounding ivory skin. Yet as Arthur reached out tentatively to trace them, he could distinctly feel the raised and puckered lacerations.

It was a mistake to touch Merlin, Arthur realized immediately after. It was apparent that even through unconsciousness Merlin could still feel the contact, and that meant he could most likely feel pain of the wounds, as he flinched and shuddered under Arthur's ghosting touch.

It made Arthur sick. A mask had already descended over his face, hiding the fury, the pain, the unbelievable _guilt_.

His eyes moved to Merlin's bare arms and froze there.

"What the _hell_ are those," Arthur choked out, jabbing a shaking finger towards the large red marks decorating Merlin's arm.

"Burns," Percival managed to murmur. There was a beat of silence as this settled in everyone's minds.

"That sick bastard," Gwaine growled, a fresh wave of anger washing over his face and body. "That twisted, evil-"

"How will we find the sorcerer, Arthur?" Elyan cut the knight off. "He escaped in the opposite direction, he could be anywhere by now."

Arthur took a deep, shuddering breath. The brief spell of nausea at seeing the burns had passed, yet he was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain his calm and controlled demeanor. He had to remain strong in front of his men, for their own safety. Kings do not fall to their knees in the face of cruelty and injuries, kings do not weep in front of their trusted men. But Merlin... The boy was just lying there, vulnerable, fragile. He _wanted _to get down on his knees, to cry, to _weep_.

But he couldn't. He had to stay strong. He had a duty. He had to get them all back to Camelot in time. Before it was too late...

"We will worry about the sorcerer another time," Arthur said, pleased to hear that his voice betrayed nothing. An errant thought flitted through his mind. What would Merlin say, if he saw what Arthur was trying to do? If he saw Arthur blocking off his feelings in an attempt to keep the image he held in the minds of his knights? But of course, Arthur knew what he would say. He would give a long-winded lecture on the merits of a king who not only showed his true feelings, but also acted on it, leaving Arthur with the task of wondering when and how Merlin had become so damned _wise_.

Arthur shook his head, clearing his mind. The knights were all watching him, waiting for him to continue.

"We'll get him back to Gaius," Arthur concluded. "We'll ride through the night if we have to."

Again, a hesitant voice spoke up.

"Arthur," Elyan said. "Wouldn't it be in Merlin's best interest if we were to get him to a physician as quickly as possible? We could return to the town where you were treated…" He trailed off as Arthur shook his head.

If there was one thing he was certain of in this moment, it was that Merlin needed Gaius. Any physician could heal Merlin's wounds. But only Gaius could heal the rest.

As he stared down at Merlin's grimacing face, Arthur refrained from adding _what's left of him_.

**So, what do you think? Review? Thanks so much!**


	6. That Old Familiar Sting

**I am so late with this chapter! But school was awful and then there were finals, and I've been watching this season of Merlin. GAH the finale! Anyways. I am truly grateful for all the reviews and alerts I've been getting. You guys are amazing! And so the story continues…**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. If I did, there would be another season after this one.**

It felt good, Gwaine decided. It felt good to be in action, to be doing _something_. They were close, very close to Camelot now, he noted as he shifted in his saddle. He could see the grey stonewalls looming above the treetops, the little men in armor pacing the battlements. His back was starting to hurt from the prolonged journey, but he didn't care. It was nothing, _nothing_ compared to what his current passenger was feeling.

Gwaine rode slowly, often trailing behind the others, who would then rally together and gather with him again. While time was of the essence, he realized when he first started a hard gallop that he would have to lower his speed greatly. Every jolt, every bump and he could feel Merlin's body stiffen in response.

The others had offered to take the boy on their own horses, but while Gwaine gave the excuse that he didn't want to wake Merlin, he secretly found himself doubting their ability to take as much care with the boy as he did.

He kept to himself, alternating his eyes to the path ahead of them and Merlin's lolling head resting on his shoulder. The other knights were very subdued, speaking in low voices and flinching at every sound that resonated through the forest, their nerves on edge from the tangible tension in the air.

Arthur was silent for most of the journey. He drifted along on his horse, ahead of all the others, and it was clear from the expression on his face that his thoughts were elsewhere. Gwaine didn't mind the quiet. It gave him a chance to sort out his own thoughts.

Poor Merlin. Poor loyal, kind, Merlin. What had he done to deserve this? Gwaine asked to no one in particular. And of course there was no answer. Bad things happen to good people, he pondered. He had seen this first hand in his lifetime, and several of those examples came from a certain manservant sitting in front of him.

After a few minutes, he would pull off one of his gloves with his teeth, and his fingers would search for a pulse, proof of a beating heart throbbing beneath Merlin's battered and bruised chest. When satisfied with the response, he pulled his hand away from Merlin's wrist and resumed his steel grip on the horse's reins. If the others noticed this recurrence, they made no comment. Yet he felt their sidelong glances following his movements.

He breathed in deeply. There was a closeness in the air, and the uncomfortable nature of the forest made Gwaine's skin crawl and the collar of his tunic constrict around his throat. But they were that much closer to Camelot. And for that, Gwaine was grateful.

It was a solemn trek through the lower town. People darted in and out of doorways, peered up at the company in veiled curiosity through closed curtains. Their eyes took in the king's grave face, the unconscious passenger with a pale face. Arthur's hand was curled around the pommel of his sword, and had remained that way for the majority of the journey. They rode quickly, decisively, as quickly as they could through the narrow cobblestone streets. The knights made no stops, and no one was foolish enough to step forward in the street while the horses trotted past. No one wanted to get in the way of the king when it was apparent what mood he was in.

* * *

Guinevere sat ramrod straight on the throne, her brow creased with worry. Gaius sat next to her, a similar expression on his face. The throne room was quiet, save for the murmurings of council members lurking in the corners. It was a tense atmosphere, as they were all anxious about their king.

The heavy door was pulled back suddenly, and in swept the king, his scarlet cloak curling around him in the doorway.

"Arthur!" Gwen cried. She rushed forward, and Arthur wrapped his arms around her. They stood in the middle of the room, her face buried in his shoulder. She drew back to look at his face. "Thank God! You were gone for so long, and I was so worried... We sent out patrols to search for you, but they found nothing. Is all well?"

Before Arthur could answer, the doors to the throne room were pushed open, and the other knights rushed in. Gwen registered the limp figure in Gwaine's arms, and she turned to look back at Arthur, question in her eyes.

Gaius raised himself out of his seat beside the throne, his puzzled expression having morphed into one of immediate concern and fear. He went directly to Merlin, and rested his hand on the boy's cold forehead.

"Bring him to my chambers, quickly," Gaius said grimly. Percival went with them as they left the throne room. Gwen turned to follow them, but Arthur caught her wrist, stopping her. He drew her back to him, his hands gently circling her wrists.

"Let them be, Guinevere," he said quietly. She opened her mouth to protest. She had to see if Merlin was all right, if there was anything she could do. But the grief in Arthur's eyes stopped her. She nodded once, realizing for the first time that his hands were shaking and causing her own to shake.

"I should..." Arthur trailed off, indicating the dirt and grim covering him from head to toe. Without waiting for an answer, he released Gwen and trudged out of the throne room.

* * *

Gwaine carefully laid Merlin back onto the bed. Gaius was behind him, shuffling around his many potions and digging through his drawers for objects only he could identify. But Gwaine wasn't paying much attention to the bustling physician.

Gaius was clearly in his element as he moved skillfully around Merlin's prone body. And Gwaine, he was standing there, doing _nothing._ Just watching. If this had been a brawl in a tavern, or perhaps a patrol of the borders with his fellow knights, Gwaine might have felt useful. Like he was helping out, doing what he does best.

But here, in the stuffy room, he felt suffocated. He felt trapped, cornered off. Because there was nothing he could do. Useless, useless. Gwaine shook his head.

Percival had drifted to the corner, a similar look of conflict on his usually pensive face. Gwaine took a seat near the bed, but far enough away that he would not be in Gaius' way. He clasped his hands together and settled back, a shiver going up his spine.

"His injuries are extensive," Gaius said quietly after a long period of stillness, save for the shuffling of the old man's feet. He took a small pause in tending to Merlin, moving over to Gwaine. The knight stood up quickly; too quickly, as his head spun. "I fear it may be a long time until he is fully recovered. Can you… tell me how he received these injuries, Gwaine?"

The knight looked around, almost desperately, for anyone else to answer this question. Percival had gone some time ago, retreating with his thoughts to the comfort of his own chambers. Gwaine looked back to the aging physician.

"Gwaine," Gaius said gently. "Perhaps this can wait. When was the last time you slept, or ate?" Gwaine ran a hand through his long hair, and then pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Ah… A while ago I suppose," Gwaine said. Gaius smiled kindly as he placed a hand on the knight's shoulder.

"Rest, Gwaine. Merlin will be here in the morning. He will not be waking any time soon," Gaius said. Gwaine nodded and took one last glance at Merlin before turning to the door. He paused with his fist curled around the handle.

"Gaius, I'm sorry," Gwaine said, turning slightly, his face bearing all the sorrow in the world to the physician. Before Gaius could answer, though he knew not what to say, the knight slipped out the door and closed it gently with a click.

There would be no tavern visits tonight, Gwaine thought to himself as he made the trek to his rooms. It was his usual treat after a long border patrol, but not tonight. Tonight, he was going back to his chambers, to seek his own bed for what was sure to be a fitful sleep.

* * *

Arthur struggled to remove his chain mail. It was not as though he had never done it before. No, he knew how to take off what was essentially a heavy tunic. But his hands were shaking and numb from the cold, and halfway through completing this task, he had turned around with Merlin's name on his lips. Because it was usually Merlin helping him with his clothes, with his meals, with everything.

But now Merlin wasn't here. He was on the other side of the castle, being tended to by Gaius. _If he was still alive_, the unbidden thought flitted through his mind. No, he responded firmly. If something had happened, someone would have come to his chambers to tell him. Because he was Merlin's best friend.

Then shouldn't you be by his side right now? That snide voice spoke up once more. Arthur clenched his fists. Merlin needs space, and so does Gaius, he repeated over and over in his mind. The physician's chambers are probably crowded already. No need to add another body that would just get in everyone's way.

Arthur left the chainmail, his cloak, and his sword in a heap on the ground. He would pick it all up tomorrow, he told himself. He settled back down on his bed, ignoring the smarting pain in his legs from the heavy riding they had done today. He didn't bother pulling the blankets up around him, though he was already shivering with cold.

Arthur had a troubled sleep. When he closed his eyes, he dreamt of fire, the bright tongues of red spreading rapidly, and a lone figure standing amidst the flame.

Arthur woke in a cold sweat, his body trembling and his heart racing. He lay in his bed for a while; eyes wide open as he stared into the darkness of his room.

An eerie silence descended, smothering him as Arthur waited in dread for the morning.


End file.
